My lips trail down the column of her neck, nipping along the way.
Her breath stutters. When I pull back to look at her for a moment, I notice how her cheeks have flushed. Her eyes dark behind her glasses as she looks at me.
“Bristol,” I say quietly, warning and want tangled together.
She swallows. “Rhett.”
That’s it.
That’s the sound that snaps the last thread. Now I understand exactly the moment Bristol was talking about.
I want more.
Too much more.
But the front doors are still locked. The clock is still ticking. And this—she—deserves better than stolen minutes in a quiet library before opening.
I force myself to pull away, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers.
“If I don’t stop now,” I admit, my voice rough, “I’m not going to be able to.”
Bristol smiles back at me. It’s a dangerous grin. “Stop?”
I brush my thumb over her lower lip once then step back before I do something I can’t undo.
“I don’t want to rush this.”
She lets out a tiny frustrated groan. “What if I said I wanted to? To rush things? Tofeelthings that I haven’t felt in a long time.”
My cock is rock hard behind my zipper. Begging me to give into her, right here.
“I want to make this perfect, okay? Tonight, after dinner, if you still feel the same way, I’ll take you back to my place and feast on you for dessert.” I promise.
Her eyes widen and she nods. “Tonight.”
I grab my jacket and my tools, trying anything to put space between us before I change my mind.
As I head for the door, I glance back to see her standing there, her hand lifted to her mouth like she’s checking that the kiss actually happened.
Yeah.
It did.
And I’m going to have blue balls the rest of the day from thinking about it.
seven
. . .
Bristol
Partof me expects the thirty-minute drive to Portsmouth for dinner to be awkward and filled with silence but so far, it’s not.
Rhett’s truck hums steadily beneath us, headlights cutting through the dark, as Mistletoe Bay gives way to winding coastal roads. He’s relaxed, one hand resting casually at the top of the steering wheel, the other tapping lightly to the low music playing through the speakers.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing over.
“I think so,” I admit. “This just feels very grown-up.”
